


A Road Trip Fic

by taylor_tut



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Motion Sickness, Nausea, Road Trips, Sick Character, Sickfic, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A birthday fic requested for a friend on tumblr!! The prompt was for Jon getting motion sick on a road trip and the s1 archives crew being soft friends. :)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 133





	A Road Trip Fic

When Sasha enters Jon's office without knocking, she's already expecting that he'll dismiss her request without even considering it. Were she working for anyone else, she might just go through with her plan without even running it by the boss, but Jon is one of the rare people for whom it's actually better to ask permission than forgiveness, because he simply will not forgive you. She waits until he's no longer recording a statement--she doesn't have Martin's level of confidence (or obliviousness; she hasn't quite figured out which it is, yet)--and even gives him another hour after that to recover, as they tend to leave him a bit moody for a while after he finishes one, before opening the door. 

"Hi, Jon," she greets casually, calmly. He glances up from his paperwork. 

"Sasha," he replies. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

That was genuine, she thinks, and that's a good sign. Means he's in a decent mood. 

“I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask.” 

Jon looks apprehensive, but nods, setting his pen down on the desk in front of him. “Alright,” he says slowly. “What is it?” 

“Well, I’ve been chatting with a young librarian who has a book that I think might be a Leitner. She says that it’s a book about insects, and that everyone who handles it for any length of time has sort of lasting effects.” 

Jon narrows his eyes. “What sort of effects?”

“Lots of things. Skin rashes and burning, nausea, vomiting, nightmares, and, most oddly, a sort of unpleasant crawling sensation along the scalp that lingers for days. She told me that it’s so bad, they’ve stopped lending the book out to children, even though the entomology it depicts is only at a child’s reading level.” 

“Hm,” Jon considers, nodding. “That does sound like it could be something.” 

“Only problem is that the library is in Liverpool. The lady, Monica, says she’s willing to meet, but tomorrow is her last day working there--hence why she reached out, I suppose. Nothing to lose if her boss doesn’t approve of her giving the book away.” 

Jon looks irritated at that, as she expected, but doesn’t say anything immediately. After a long moment of thinking, he sighs. “Well, I was planning on doing some reorganizing down in the stacks tomorrow, but I suppose it can wait. Sure, I’ll accompany you.”

Sasha breaks into an uneasy grin. “Oh, I wasn’t--I was just asking if you’d let me take the day to fetch it!” she corrects. “I didn’t mean you had to come.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Liverpool is four hours away, at least, and you can’t very well take the train with a book like that. If all goes well, you’d be driving back with, theoretically, a cursed book in the trunk of your car. You’re not going alone.” 

“Then I can ask Tim—”

“Even worse,” Jon curtails so quickly and coldly that she’s sure Tim has doubled over somewhere from the psychic damage. 

“Well, I’m not about to tell you that you can’t come. I’d love to have you along. The only concern I have is… do you have a car? Because mine’s in the shop.” 

Jon frowns. “No, I… I take the tube.” 

“I’d planned on asking to borrow Tim’s,” she says, “but that comes with a price I’m not sure you’d be willing to pay.”

“And what’s that?”

“Karaoke duet at the pub.” 

“Absolutely not,” Jon rejects. “Well, do you think he’d allow it if we brought him along? I could frame it as a work duty, which isn’t…  _ completely _ a lie.” 

“Wow, Jon, look at you: throwing around that new ‘boss’ title.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“Oh, you absolutely should. Just don’t throw your weight around at me and Martin.” 

“Very well, then, it’s settled. We’ll leave at 7 tomorrow. It’ll be a bit of a long day, but you’ll all receive overtime pay, and however many hours over the typical shift we stay out, you can have in holiday leave time.” 

“Very kind of you,” she says, smiling. “I’ll let Tim and Martin know.” 

Though she says it quickly in the hopes that Jon won’t hear it, of course, she has no such luck. 

“Who said anything about Martin joining?” 

“Aw, come on, Jon! You can’t just leave him here alone with Elias. He’ll be eaten!” 

“And just how is that my problem?” At her puppy dog eyes, Jon scowls. “Fine. That won’t work every time, you know.” 

“Of course.I’ll let them know, and finish confirming the details with Monica.” When he doesn’t stop scowling, she laughs. “Don’t look so cross, Jon. It’ll be fun!” 

Jon rolls his eyes. “Right. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” 

The next morning, early, Tim picks up Sasha in his car. Because they all live close enough, and because Tim is kind, he’d offered to pick everyone up individually rather than meeting at the Institute. Being his favorite, Sasha gets picked up first so she can have the front seat, followed by Martin, who has brought snacks and beverages for all of them, and, finally, Jon. 

Jon is decidedly not dressed for 8 hours on the road round-trip. The rest of them have worn comfortable clothes, Tim even going as far as to wear joggers and a t-shirt and to bring a change of clothes for the meeting, Jon is dressed as he always is: black dress trousers and a button-up shirt and vest. 

“Alright, gang,” Tim greets as soon as Jon has taken his seat behind him, “we’re about to leave, but I want to make sure we’ve got everything we need.”

Jon frowns. “I don’t think we’re meant to bring anything—”

“I have sweets covered,” Sasha says dutifully, “both chocolates and fruit-flavored.” 

“Perfect. Martin?”

“Pretzels and sparkling water,” he replies, patting his bag. 

“And?” 

Martin averts his gaze. “No ‘and.’” 

Tim turns fully around in his seat. “And?” he demands again, more insistent this time, and Martin rolls his eyes. 

“Fine,” he caves, reaching into his bag and passing over a can of energy drink, “fine. But I don’t want any texts tonight about how you can’t sleep.” 

“I make no promises!” 

Jon looks a bit uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to bring anything,” he says. “Someone should have told me; I’d have chipped in.” 

“It’s not a necessity,” Sasha reassures. “Just a bit of a road trip tradition.” 

“I suppose I’ve never been on a road trip before,” he says. Tim’s eyes light up.

“You’ll love it! Everyone, buckle in. Sasha has the directions, Martin has the aux cord, and Jon, you just try to enjoy yourself.” 

Surprisingly, at least to Sasha, Jon does seem to enjoy himself for a while. He has a few sweets, he sings along (though at a much quieter volume than the rest of them) to the songs he knows, and he contributes to the idle chatter. Tim nearly crashes the car after, when he puts his little universally-understood dad-like claw arm behind the seat in Jon’s line of sight for sweets, Jon places his own hand in it confusedly. As soon as Sasha explains this, what she calls the Driver Tax, he is diligent and generous in his offerings. He’s got no complaints when Martin spreads his legs out, far too tall for the back seat, and his knee touches Jon’s ever so slightly.

She finds that, outside the Institute, Jon is softer around the edges, and even though he’s still maintaining an air of professionalism, he’s much more likeable. Something about the Institute changes him. She wonders if he can see it. 

Things are going well, which is something Sasha hasn’t said at 9 in the morning on a weekday since she started working here, but after about 2 hours on the road, they start to go a bit more predictably. 

It starts with Jon morphing slowly back into, well, Jon. At first, he stops singing; easy enough to write off because frankly, Sasha is surprised he’d recognized as many songs as he had from Martin’s playlist, and perhaps he just doesn’t know the words. More difficult to ignore is when he stops laughing at jokes, stops contributing to the conversation, and, eventually, stops feeding snacks to Tim’s grabby claw, choosing instead to rest with his eyes shut and his head against the window. 

“Doing alright, Jon?” she asks, and he nods. 

“Fine,” he brushes her off. “Just thinking.” 

“What about?” 

He shrugs. “Oh, this and that. Don’t mind me--keep having fun.” 

Martin frowns. “You look a bit pale,” he points out, “and shaky. Do you get motion sick?” 

Just the idea seems to offend him. “No,” he snaps, “I told you, I’m fine.” When the outburst dampens the mood of the car, he caves, one hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine. A bit of a headache. Nothing serious.” 

“We can turn the radio down,” Tim offers, reaching to do so without Jon having to accept it verbally. Such a gentleman. Sasha would snatch him up in a heartbeat, if she were into that sort of thing. 

Jon mumbles something like, “thanks,” under his breath, and goes back to leaning against the window. Though she’d like to, Sasha does not point out that positioning his head so it’s hitting the window with every bump the car rolls over is probably not ideal, nor does she inform him that headaches are, in fact, a symptom of motion sickness. She lets him be. The truth will come out soon--Jon’s a terrible liar. 

After another half hour spent in a much quieter car, Tim announces that he’d forgotten to fill up his fuel tank before departing and that they needed to stop. Sasha is sure he must be watching Jon from the rearview mirror, because though the tank is still full enough that it could probably get them the rest of the way to Liverpool, Jon is sweating despite having already asking them to increase the air conditioning twice, and shaking. His face has gone from pale to ashen, and honestly, Sasha is amazed he’s made it this long without being ill. He keeps his composure until they park, and Jon is out of the car even before Tim. 

“Going into the convenience store,” he mutters, barely even audible. However, his balance appears to be impaired, because he only manages a few dizzy steps before stumbling into Tim, who drops his credit card on the ground in his haste to steady him. 

“Woah, Jon, you alright?” he questions, but rather than replying, Jon pushes away from him to a rubbish bin a few feet away, gripping it tightly as he retches. “Oh, shit--Sasha,” Tim calls. She switches places with him so that she can fill up the tank while Tim holds back Jon’s hair and keeps him from falling over. Martin shuffles off into the convenience store in the middle of the chaos. 

“It’s okay, Jon,” Tim comforts in response to each apology gasped through rounds of emptying his stomach. “You already told us you’d never been on a long car ride before. You didn’t know this would happen.” 

“S’embarrassing,” Jon manages to pant, and Tim moves his hand to rub soothing circles in Jon’s upper back, supporting him when he leans further into him as his stomach apparently calms down. 

“I know,” Tim says, “but you’re okay. Think you can sit on the curb?” Jon nods, malleable in Tim’s grip as he helps him to sit down with his head between his knees. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes again, and Sasha rolls her eyes. 

“Stop apologizing,” she demands. “Really, I should have let you have the front seat. Less likely to make you ill. I wasn’t thinking.” 

Martin returns, cutting off whatever retort Jon would have given, with a blister pack of pills and a bottle of sports drink, which he pulls from a plastic bag that also contains a few other plastic bags. 

“Hi, Jon,” he says, crouching next to him at the curb. “You alright?” 

Jon nods. His face is still pale, but his expression is that of dizzy humiliation. “Been better,” he replies, and Martin laughs lightly. 

“I’m sure,” he agrees. “I’ve got you some things that should help you feel a little less miserable.” Martin twists the cap off the sports drink and hands it over, watching as Jon takes a tentative sip, swishing the liquid around his mouth for a moment before swallowing it to get rid of the taste. “And two of these,” he places two pills into Jon’s hand. “We’re supposed to wait at least 30 minutes to let them kick in.” 

“Well, that’s perfect,” Sasha lies, “because I haven’t had breakfast.” Truthfully, she’s more than full of snacks, but she also knows that Jon will insist he’s fine to start back on the road again if he’s given a choice, so she doesn’t give him one. 

“The meeting—”

“I scheduled plenty of time for traffic or other unforeseen delays,” Sasha curtails, “and Monica says she’s free all day, if we have to push it back. Don’t worry.” 

“There’s a diner across the street,” Tim points out, “if you’re ready for a two-minute drive, Jon?”

Jon nods. “I--yes, I can do that. Thank you.” He offers the first small smile he’s given in an hour. “Breakfast is on me.” 

Tim ushers the gang back into the car and they don’t leave until Jon feels well enough to make the rest of the trip, carpool karaoke and all. 


End file.
